


Not Flying, Just Falling With Style

by twerkinshield



Series: Of Winter Winds, Past Sins, and Dearest Kin [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Marriage Proposal, and steve is adorably oblivious, basically bucky is a mushy romantic, whose plans always fail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-13 02:14:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2133270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twerkinshield/pseuds/twerkinshield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Bucky wants a senior's discount, epic Mario Kart tournaments are had, Steve and Bucky struggle to learn modern slang, and Fury yells at everyone for scaring civilians.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is finally coming to a close! The second chapter of this installment will be the final piece in this series. It's been so wonderful to finally contribute to the Marvel Fandom :'))))

Steve is woken up from a peaceful sleep with the cat lounging on his face, sans his goober of a boyfriend, to the sound of raucous laughter burbling forth from the kitchen three floors below. He rolls over in the bed that he and Bucky share – lamenting the definitive lack of warmth from his boyfriend’s side of the mattress – and sprawls out over the entire bed, doing his best impression of a beached starfish.

“Captain.”

“Yes JARVIS?”

“You may soon be needed in the kitchen to stop the possible bloodshed between your best guy and Mr. Stark.”

Steve sighs expansively, running a hand through his bed-rumpled hair, “I’ll be right down.” It isn’t until halfway through pulling some pants on that he realizes what JARVIS called Bucky.

“Why is he my best guy?”

JARVIS’ reply is sheepish, almost embarrassed, “I was informed by Mr. Stark that it was one of the colloquialisms that were present when you were growing up.”

“You know he’s not always right, don’t you?”

“I do not intend to be the one to break that news to him Captain.”

“Touché.”

Steve wanders down into the kitchen area, scrubbing the sleep from his eyes and trying to comb his hair into some semblance of order with just his fingers. He can hear Bucky yelling and swearing in angry Russian, while Tony cackles delightedly from the breakfast nook.

“How can you fuck up _so_ monumentally?” the genius wheezes. “It’s a mug brownie! You just mix shit in a mug and heat it up!”

Bucky scowls at him from his place in front of the offending crime scene, “I don’t _know_ ,” he gingerly pulls the door open. “I think it just hates me because I’m more technologically advanced than it is.”

Steve pads around the kitchen island to stand behind his boyfriend – taking in the carnage of deliciousness in the microwave – and snickers into the back of Bucky’s shirt.

“Can it you nerd,” Bucky growls, not relaxing into Steve’s embrace as the super soldier wraps his arms around the assassin’s waist. “Like you can do any better.”

Steve kisses his neck, “nah, I prefer mug cookies to brownies.”

Bucky glares at him and rubs his ass tantalizingly against his boyfriend’s morning wood, “So rude.”

Steve nips playfully at the delicate shell of Bucky’s ear, “You should document your failure on twitter. People will love it.”

“Yeah! You could hashtag it with ‘I bucked up’!” Tony giggles into his coffee.

“… That’s not a _terrible_ idea.”

“Bucky no.”

“Bucky _yes_!”

Bucky posts a picture of the sloppy brownie sitting dejectedly against the wall of the microwave – mug empty and at least six inches away – captioned with ‘MUG CAKE: 5TH ATTEMPT” and using the hashtag ‘Ibuckedup’. It’s only after he presses the refresh button for his twitter feed that a sickening crunch echoes through the kitchen.

“WHOSE IDEA WAS IT TO GIVE ME A PHONE WITH A TOUCH SCREEN!?” he yells, waving his broken phone angrily. “I HAVE A METAL ARM FOR GOD’S SAKE!”

At Steve’s incredulous expression Bucky elaborates, “Yeah, sometimes I forget I have a metal arm and I try to text with my left hand. This is the third screen I’ve cracked.”

“We should just get you a Nokia,” Bruce suggests serenely, wandering in to open the fridge. “Those things are practically indestructible.”

Tony’s gasp of outrage only makes Bruce’s smile grow wider.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Steve takes Bucky to the mall later in the week to buy a new phone, deeply regretting the time spent in the interim listening to him bitch about how he’s so disconnected from everyone and how Stark phones are cheap pieces of trash. Bucky’s latest rant is only cut short – right in the middle of a beautifully descriptive narrative of how easily he could turn a Stark phone into a bomb – when he stops dead still in front of a grocery store.

“Steve!”

“Bucky?”

“STEVE.”

“WHAT?”

“Two words: senior’s discount.”

And without further ado, Bucky is sprinting away into the store.

Steve sighs and follows him in.

It turns out the discount applies to anyone over the age of sixty-five who can provide valid ID, thereby entitling the card bearers to a discount of twenty percent from any purchases they make from the store. Steve doesn’t realize just how serious Bucky is about the venture until his boyfriend marches up to one of the cashiers and asks for a brochure.

“Is it for your grandparents?” asks the girl, sweeping her long blonde curls behind her ears.

“Oh no, it’s for us,” Bucky says distractedly.

“Oh,” she trails off uncertainly. “Okay?”

“Yeah I tried to dissuade him,” Steve grimaces. “I mean technically we do qualify for them.”

She frowns contemplatively, her eyebrows pulling downwards in the middle, “Well, I suppose I could get the manager for you? I’m not really sure about what the protocol is for American Icons from the Second World War who want discount cards.”

“No thank you, that’s alright- “

“Yes I would like to speak to your manager, uh, Becky,” Bucky smiles charmingly, reading off of her generic nametag. “If it’s not too much trouble sweetheart.”

She smirks, “Steady on there lover boy,” and walks away to find her boss.

“Bucky.”

“Steve.”

“It’s only twenty percent.”

“Exactly! We should be able to qualify for this!”

“But it’s a stupid grocery card?” Steve flails. “It’s not like we’re wanting for money!”

“Yeah! But think about the money we can save on fresh produce! The good cuts of meat, fresh veggies, those Triscuit crackers you love, and- “

“I’m sorry for the wait gentlemen, how may I be of assistance?”

Steve sighs internally as Bucky turns smoothly on the ball of his heel to face the portly, balding manager. Why do these things happen to them?

“Actually, you’re _just_ the man I wanted to see,” Bucky says, confidently tilting his chin up. “We’d like to apply for the senior’s discount.”

The manager blinks. Then blinks again once he’s sure that Bucky isn’t pulling his leg. Behind him, Becky bites her lip to stop from grinning. Steve carefully keeps his face in a neutral expression, not wanting to incur Bucky’s not inconsiderable wrath.

“I’m sorry sir, but that discount only applies to people over the age of sixty five,” the manager says slowly, as if speaking to a slow child.

Bucky’s eyebrows draw down minutely, and Steve just _knows_ that look. That’s the look that’s gotten them extra rations at the orphanage because Steve was small and sickly and _dammit_ he needs more to eat sir! It’s the look that got Steve’s back up whenever Bucky found him picking fights with bullies in all the back alleys of Brooklyn. It’s the look that promises one hell of a fight.

“We are.”

“Are what?” the man frowns, incomprehensibly.

“We _are_ over sixty five years old. We have the ID to prove it.”

Behind her boss Becky is shaking through her silent laughter, her face turning purple from trying to keep her composure.

“Sir this discount is meant for seniors to take advantage of,” he says reproachfully, as if Bucky’s trying to scam him. “Not for cheeky imposters posing as national war heroes.”

Steve chokes on nothing, while Bucky swears colourfully in Russian.

“Well bad news for you pal! I’m a patriot!” Bucky growls.

Steve puts a comforting hand on Bucky’s shoulder to hold him back, the manager nervously eyeballing Bucky’s metal arm.

“Sir, we’re not lying. My name is Steve Rogers, and this is James Barnes. Otherwise known as Bucky,” Steve takes deep calming breaths to keep from losing it. “I have the ID and the scars to prove it.”

The man leans backwards carefully, nervously wiping the sweat from his forehead, “I do know that sir, and I recognize you from the New York footage after the invasion. It’s just that,” he looks around fleetingly. “It doesn’t seem very patriotic to take advantage of a discount that you don’t really need?”

Steve’s gut clenches in righteous anger as he snarls, “I didn’t fight against Nazis for freedom and freeze in the ice for seventy years to be told off for not being _patriotic_.”

Beside him, Bucky is all but vibrating with barely restrained rage, the tension in his limbs translating to a palpable level of energy.

“Go take a look in any goddamn history book because we’re in them,” Bucky holds out his metal hand expectantly. “Now give me a discount on my crackers you _limp noodle_.”

Becky smoothly sidesteps the blustering of her boss and hands Bucky two sign-up sheets, “So I just need to see some valid ID and then you can sign here while I get your swipe cards.”

Steve and Bucky freeze, completely forgetting her presence.

“Thank you ma’am,” Steve says bashfully.

“No problem!” she smiles toothily. “Although, if I could ask a favour…”

Bucky tenses and Steve’s pen stops, poised over the paper.

“My cousins _love_ you guys, so, I mean, only if it’s not too much trouble!” Becky flushes, embarrassed. “Could I maybe get a photo with you two?”

Bucky smiles, once again all charm and charisma, “Sure thing darlin’.”

The photo ends up on Bucky’s twitter, once he adds Becky to his list of twitter friends, with the hashtag “#gotourseniorsdiscount” underneath it.

Tony laughs his ass off at the resident seniors of the Avengers and frames the photo for the tower’s common room.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Now, it is important to note the progress Steve and Bucky have made with regards to modern technology. With some things – like cellphones and cameras – they have taken to them like ducks to water. Their dates are documented on Twitter, selfies are stored in meticulously labelled folders on their phones, and their phones are well looked after. With other things though, they flounder hilariously, much to the entertainment of the rest of the Avengers.

As it stands, when disputes need to be settled there is only one acceptable way to determine who shall be victorious.

Mario Kart.

The whole conundrum started back when Clint was trying to teach Thor how to use the Stark tablets that were passed out when they first moved in to the tower.

“So you press the interface button here, and then swipe over to the control menu board- “

Thor sighs expansively, flopping himself down onto the couch with the resignation usually found in teenagers being forced to listen to a parent’s instructions.

“Yes my friend I _know_ how to work these machines.”

Clint frowns, confused, “But I thought you wanted to know how to use them?”

“Well, I do,” Thor rubs a hand down his face tiredly. “But this machine is just so _old_ that I barely remember how to use it. The technology on Asgard is far more advanced than these inelegant bricks.”

“Hey!” Tony squawks indignantly.

Thor looks suitably chastised, “I offer my apologies my friend, I know you put forth great effort in producing such excellent equipment, but the truth remains that I am far older than most of earth’s technology.”

Tony leans forward against the table, glaring icily, “Well that settles it.”

“Settles what?” Thor asks.

“We need a tech-off.”

Clint cheers, “I have no idea what that even is but it sounds epic!”

Tony claps his hands imperiously, with all the grace and command of a king commanding his loyal subjects, “Bring forth the Nintendo 64!”

The unholy grin on Thor’s face prompts JARVIS to immediately notify the rest of the team (and Pepper) about the impending technological melee a-la Avengers style.

Four long hours later sees Bucky, Clint, and Natasha sitting together on the long couch screaming at the television where their pixelated characters race through the brightly coloured track of Rainbow Road. Thor and Tony had to be physically restrained from bloodshed when the engineer thoroughly thrashed the Asgardian prince at MooMoo Farm, and had been put in a time-out by a very harassed Pepper Potts.

Clint and Natasha work in tandem to keep Bucky from advancing past them, shooting shells and banana peels and leaving trap presents strewn all over the track. After hitting his third decoy bomb in a row, Bucky gets fed up.

“I DIDN’T TRAIN AS A WORLD CLASS ASSASSIN AND GO THROUGH CRYO FOR SEVENTY YEARS TO GET KILLED BY YOUR BULLSHIT RED SHELLS AND THESE MOTHERFUCKING BANANA PEELS! FUCK YOU AND YOUR RAINBOW ROAD!”

Clint cackles maniacally right up until Bucky knocks him clean off the track using a blue spike shell, sprinting past Natasha around a string of banana peels, and zipping past the finish line in first place.

Bucky’s victorious war screech startles Bruce out of his nap and into hulking out.

Once Bruce has changed back and is calm once more, Pepper makes sure they all know that everything is at a standstill with regards to the use of the gaming consoles to end their disputes. She ends up with a whining Tony and Thor following her around like lost puppies. Steve walks in after his afternoon run only to find Clint and Natasha painting each other’s nails while Tony and Thor grovel on the floor in front of Pepper. Bruce weakly waves at him from his bean bag chair, and Bucky launches himself with a wild ululation at Steve, making the super soldier buckle under the unexpected weight of his boyfriend.

It takes the promise of Steve’s homemade mac’n’cheese to calm everyone down.

Lunch is a hassle and a small international crisis all of it’s own, with people fighting over ketchup and bowls and who uses what utensil for eating and who is sitting where. Sam walks in with a bag full of new wool for Bucky just as dessert – trail mix sans Shreddies – is being finished.

Context is highly overrated in the Avengers’ tower.

“But Steve that’s _exactly_ why I buy him his own special trail mix but _nooooooooo!_ Clint always goes for my nuts, and they’re _mine_! MY NUTS!”

Steve handles the situation with grace and aplomb. Which means he waves his hands a lot and gets incredibly flustered, “Bucky I can’t control what kind of nuts he puts in his mouth!”

“But his nuts are the best!” cries Clint, offended.

Sam just shakes his head, drops the wool in front of Bucky and says, “Could you all just _please_ stop talking about your nuts? I don’t care where they’ve been or whose mouth they’re going into I _don’t need to know_.”

Natasha smirks and passes him the bowl of trail mix, “Got it, no nuts for Falcon then.”

Clint giggles hysterically.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Steve continues his work as a public relations manager between the Avengers and the general population and regularly attends charity events and slots on various television programs. Unfortunately, his slang isn’t as up to date as his experience with technology.

The door to the recreation room nearly flies off the wall with the force Steve uses to open it, bursting into the room still wearing his Sunday best and the pancake makeup from the backstage team.

“WHOSE IDEA WAS IT TO NOT TELL ME THAT ‘BONER’ IS MODERN SLANG FOR AN ERECTION?” he roars, flushing crimson from to the tips of his ears.

Tony nearly drops his precious tablet from shock and Clint wheezes incoherently as Steve rounds on them with all the rage of an angry grizzly woken early from hibernation.

“I HAVE SAID IT TWICE ON NATIONAL TELEVISION AND NOBODY HAS SAID ANYTHING!” he yells, scrubbing a hand through his gel-stuck hair. Tony and Clint remain prostrate on their positions on the floor, gasping for breath and turning purple from oxygen deprivation while Natasha grins.

Bucky skids into the room on thick homemade socks, “So _that’s_ why Nat and Bruce were laughing their asses off when I asked them to help with my cooking boner in the kitchen last week!”

Behind him, Bruce chokes on his juice and bursts into delighted peals of laughter, a wide smile making his eyes crinkle at the corners. He shakes his head fondly and asks, “So is there any other dick related slang you guys used to use?”

Steve stops his angry tirade and looks contemplatively at his hands, his mind a thousand miles away, and side eyes anxiously Bucky as he comes to stand beside the super soldier. Steve shrugs helplessly at him and Bucky blanches, at a loss for what to say.

Bucky blurts out, “Well I’m gonna guess it means something different now if I offer you some solid dick, right?”

Bruce laughs so hard he snorts juice out of his nose and Tony rolls around on the floor like a wiggly little puppy, gleeful for the laugh material provided by two of America’s most iconic heroes.

Natasha throws her hands up into the air and walks away saying, “I don’t want to help you with your boner nor do I want any solid dick from _either_ of you two idiots.”  Later that week, she ends up printing off a comprehensive list of current slang for them and writes out the URL for Urban Dictionary. Steve and Bucky cuddle up on the couch looking up old words they used to use and writing down new ones.

Not everyone is as kind and helpful as Natasha however, and within a week after the interview Steve is known as the national hero who talks about boners on national television. Twitter erupts into chaos, with vicious smack downs and cruel jokes at Steve’s expense. Bucky gets furiously protective and spends an entire Saturday viciously defending Steve from every negative Tweet on the internet and ends with putting a warning at the top of his profile feed.

 _This is a PSA if you ever speak one insulting word about Steve Rogers I will drop from the sky and slap you. Talk shit, get hit_.

Steve talks him down from making open threats to the world and is totally unsurprised when, two weeks later; he is called down to Fury’s office at the main SHIELD building to be chewed out for letting his boyfriend have access to the Internet.

“But sir, you told me to integrate him as fully as possible?”

“That I did,” growls Fury. “But I did not tell you to use his social media presence to further his vigilantism.”

“Oh, well I told him to knock it off with the Twitter threats and he backed down.”

The look Fury gives Steve tells a whole new meaning to the hairy eyeball, “Captain, Agent Barnes took offense to a particularly virulent naysayer and took matters into his own hands.”

Steve rubs his temples, “I have a feeling I know where this is going sir.”

“I certainly fucking hope so, because he tracked that person down and literally made the kid piss his pants in fear when he came home to his dorm room, only to find the Winter Soldier – in _full_ regalia mind you – pointing a semi-automatic at his head.”

“He _what_?”

“You heard me Cap.”

Steve leaves after being chewed out some more and resolves to buy a water bottle to spray Bucky with when he gets home. Bucky is totally unrepentant and refuses to apologize for his actions, even if he does promise to never track down his victims again.

“Bucky you _know_ I don’t need to have someone fight my battles for me, right? He was just some random kid on the internet.”

Bucky sulks sullenly, “I hate that he _can_ say shit like that though, and I hate that he can just get away with it.”

Steve’s insides turn to warm mush at the words, and he climbs onto the couch with Bucky, wrapping his arms around the ex-assassin. “I’m not that skinny little shit disturber I used to be. I don’t need to be protected.”

Bucky snorts, “Oh you’re still a shit disturber, you’re just the size of a barn and have better tits than most dames.”

Steve tweaks Bucky’s nipple in retaliation and gets a squeal from him, Bucky’s foot coming up to knock his hand away. Steve grabs Bucky’s ankle and drags him up and onto his lap, so that he’s straddling the super soldier.

“And is _all_ of me the size of a barn?” Steve asks, a lascivious smile creeping over his face as he tucks his thumbs under the waistband of Bucky’s pants.

Bucky licks his lips seductively, “I don’t know Big Boy, I may have to check and see.”

Steve grins up at him impishly; rucking up Bucky’s t-shirt in order to get at the warm, smooth planes of muscle spanning his torso. Bucky’s stomach muscles twitch at the attention, the chiselled abs flexing deliciously under the skin. Bucky leans forward just enough to grab the hem of Steve’s shirt, pulling it up and over his head, whistling at the sight of sun-kissed pecs and bulging biceps.

“Mmm boy, did I ever get lucky,” drawls Bucky, eyeing the flexing muscles underneath him. “Scoot up soldier boy, I need to make sure everything is in working order.”

Steve chuckles, “You know this isn’t going to get you off the hook for scaring that kid right?”

“Betcha I can change that,” Bucky singsongs.

Soon enough, Steve’s pants are pulled down his legs to rest at his ankles, his cock bulging against the red fabric of his boxer briefs.

“My, my,” Bucky purrs. “What do we have here?”

He draws a finger teasingly along the length of Steve’s cock, feeling the hard flesh twitch under the fabric. Steve gasps when Bucky leans down to lick a hot stripe along his cock through the delicate fabric, his hand clenching and unclenching against the couch.

“Bucky, _please_.”

“That’s it gorgeous, _beg_ for me.”

And Steve does.

Bucky draws his cock out and slowly sucks him off, taking him all the way down like a fucking professional, and Steve makes noises like he’s dying in the best possible way. Bucky bobs his head, alternating between delicate licks to the slit and running his tongue along the vein running up his cock. The super soldier moves his hand to tangle in Bucky’s long tresses, scratching his fingers gently along the scalp and drawing shaky moans out of Bucky, the vibrations running deliciously along Steve’s cock. Bucky swallows the super soldier’s cock down to the root, his nose touching the wiry curls at the base and his eyes watering, but he doesn’t pull back. Just when Steve thinks he’s going to die from pleasure overload, Bucky starts humming around his mouthful, and it’s all Steve can do not to blow his load before the fun really starts. Steve whines prettily when he pulls off, but Bucky is far from finished.

“Alright soldier boy, let’s see if we can get this rodeo started.”

Steve’s face is flushed and delirious with pleasure, “Rodeo?” he asks, keeping Bucky steady as he clambers up onto Steve’s lap once more. “Will there be riding involved?”

Bucky’s answering grin could set fire to ice, “Oh trust me, there will most definitely be some riding.” He then chucks the bottle of lube to Steve and starts ripping his own clothes off.

Steve manhandles him into position before he reaches back under Bucky, teasing the tips of his fingers over the delicate skin of his balls and listening to the breathy intakes of pleasure coming from his boyfriend. Steve takes the bottle and uncaps the lid, the sudden click echoing loudly in the relative quiet of their room, and slowly drizzles a thin stream of lube down between Bucky’s cheeks. Steve teasingly runs a finger down and through the slick, sliding his fingers through the mess and rubbing it into the puckered skin of Bucky’s entrance, and feels the muscles clench smoothly against the intrusion. Above him, Bucky gasps and shakes with the stimulation – one hand grasping desperately onto Steve’s shoulder while the other tangles in the golden strands of his hair – while Steve continues to torture him with slick fingers, the digits opening him up sweetly with heated intent. Bucky gasps shakily as Steve gently preps him, his cock rubbing hotly against Steve’s stomach as he bounces gently.

“Come the fuck _on_ ,” he growls impatiently. “Get your cock in me right fucking _now_ Rogers!”

Steve grins serenely and says, “If you say so,” and slides the condom on before carefully lowering Bucky down onto his cock. If Steve weren’t so consumed with trying not to come, he probably would’ve laughed at the look of sheer bliss on Bucky’s face, like he’s just found the face of God by sitting on Steve’s dick. The urge to laugh passes as Bucky starts bouncing on his lap, riding his cock like he was fucking _made_ for it. The muscles in Bucky’s abdomen clench and move under the skin as he rides Steve like the last bronco at the derby, determined to wring every last drop of pleasure out of the super soldier. Steve just grips him tighter as he rides and rubs his thumbs over the jut of Bucky’s hipbones, inordinately pleased with the knowledge that Bucky will have a delicate pattern of bruises all along his abdomen, and knowing that it was _Steve_ who put them there.

Steve’s thrusting grows erratic as his pleasure mounts, Bucky’s riding becoming loose and sloppy as he starts chasing his own orgasm in earnest, and Steve thanks the powers that be that gave him the chance to have this special thing with Bucky. They finish together, with Steve’s hands keeping Bucky skewered on his cock and Bucky’s ass clenching brutally as his cock spends itself against his flawless chest.

They flop down onto the couch exhaustedly, pulling off the condom to throw behind the couch and curling up together.

“So,” gasps Steve, chest heaving like he just ran a fifty-mile marathon. “Did the serum work everywhere?”

Bucky giggles manically, “Oh I’ll say it did.”

Bucky promises to not track down every hater of Steve’s on the internet, in exchange for orgasms and cuddles from Steve as compensation.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank everyone for reading and encouraging my fic! I'm so happy to have finally contributed to the Marvel fandom :)

After a few rounds of spectacularly athletic sex, Bucky wanders down to the common room wearing one of Steve’s old SHIELD issued sweatshirts and his boxers so he can get a snack. He rubs at the scarred tissue at his shoulder where the skin meets smooth metal – gently massaging the tense muscles – and silently thanks Tony for the lighter metal alloy.

His gratitude lasts until the split second when he walks into the kitchen.

“Hey look! It’s Foxy Grandpa #2!” Tony calls out, a terrifyingly large bowl of lucky charms sitting in front of him.

Bucky blanches – the joke totally going over his head – and pads over to the cabinet to grab a bowl, swiping the box of cereal out of Tony’s reach.

“Can it metal man,” Bucky smirks. “I just had some fabulous marathon sex and I don’t want you to ruin my post-coital glow.”

Tony scrunches up his face in disgust, “Yeah okay I don’t wanna know what you and Foxy Grandpa numero uno get up to in casa de ye olde times.”

Bucky glares at him as he pours milk into his bowl, “Well I’m just glad to finally be off Steve’s shit list.”

“Why?” asks Clint, his eyes glinting curiously. “What did you do this time?”

“It’s a toss up,” Bucky spoons up a big scoop of cereal and chews on it noisily. “It could either be the stupid frat boy whose dorm I broke into and threatened with a semi-automatic,” he wipes the milk from his chin contemplatively. “Or it could be when I told that kid on the subway that I could do a magic trick, and then the kid cried.”

Clint frowns, “A magic trick? Yeah that doesn’t sound creepy at all.”

“Yeah, apparently most kids don’t find it funny when you detach your arm with no warning. It’s weird,” Bucky grins impishly.

Tony nearly snorts milk out his nose, “You know you’re not exactly encouraging people to stop with the arm puns, right?”

Thor chooses that exact moment to saunter into the kitchen, heading straight to the toasted armed with several boxes of strawberry pop tarts.

“I swear if anyone says another stupid pun about my arm I will detach it and throw it at their head.”

“Yeah I mean it’s kind of cute that to disarm himself Bucky has to, you know,” Clint winks. “ _Literally_ disarm himself.”

“What the _fu_ \- “

“Well he does have a right to _bear arms_ ,” Tony adds.

“Tony _no_ \- “

“Hey Tony, does it al _arm_ you that he can do that?”

“Why yes it does Clint! I’ve gotta _hand_ it to you for pointing it out. Way to make my fears more visible.”

“ _I_ _swear to Christ_ \- “

Clint turns to look at Bucky, spreading his hands to placate the ex-assassin, “Hey man, no need to get all up in _arms_ about it.”

“If one more person makes another goddamn pun I will _shoot them in the foot_.”

Natasha glides in silently and adds, “The damages for that would cost an arm and a leg.”

The Asgardian prince adds another pop tart to his plate – not even looking up from the toaster– before grinning deviously and saying, “I am sorry my friend. These jokes have gotten out of _hand_.”

Bucky takes advantage of Thor’s inattentiveness, using the opportunity to give him a massive wedgie while the mighty prince squeals like a piglet.

The short video ends up on Tony’s Vine account, and Tony puts another gold star on Bucky’s side of the “getting hip with the times” sheet for successfully utilizing the golden opportunities that Vines offer. Steve gets offended at not being there to earn a star of his own, and the competition (which Bucky will eventually win) begins.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Steve and Bucky aren’t without their issues. It kind of comes with the whole ‘frozen for 70+ years and rehabilitated to the future after countless battles, bloodshed, and heartbreak’ package. There are some days when Steve just can’t stand to be around anyone else, even Bucky, and is barely able to sit alone in their apartment. There are some days when only the soothing scratching of his charcoal against paper is able to keep Steve from screaming and taking a great leap off the Empire State Building. There are days when Steve can go for a run, spar with Natasha and go out for breakfast with Sam after, and then cuddle with Bucky in front of the TV. But there are also days when he can’t stand any kind of human contact and it _scares him_ to be so unable to deal with kindness on these days. These days when human compassion seems more like a curse than a blessing, and when every single phrase and noise sounds like an attack on his fragile psyche. It terrifies him that some days basic humanity is enough to make him want to claw his face off into a bloody mess.

Bucky is fragile in a whole other set of ways. To him, kindness is a weakness and a ploy to uncover weaknesses, as per his training in the Red Room. On good days Bucky goes out for pancakes at IHOP with Tony and talks shop about his arm, then he goes to the botanical gardens with Thor, and ends the day with a marksmanship competition with Clint. On his bad days he struggles with reality – _his_ reality versus Red Room reality – and not even the words of his closest friends can bring him back from the brink of humanity and weaponization. The softness of everyday actions – balls of wool from Sam, jokes and mead with Thor, and Natasha’s famous blueberry waffles – become a grating edge on his nerves that can’t be soothed.

Clichéd though it may be, some days are better than others.

So when Tony gets harsh and abrasive and defensive, Steve knows it’s not really his fault. He knows what it’s like to attack everything around you so you don’t get hurt first. And it’s not like Tony and Bucky aren’t already the best of friends to begin with, even if their personalities are so incredibly different.

“So Capsicle,” Tony drawls, clearly on edge and trying to play it cool. “Why does your shiny metal vintage boyfriend get the best waffles in the morning and I don’t? I mean it’s technically my house and all.”

Steve sighs, “Tony, Bucky is having a hard time adjusting to being treated like an actual human being. You’d think you would be able to understand.”

“Why would _I_ understand?”

“Because before the Iron Man craze people thought you were a shameless, capitalist, womanizing man-whore?”

“Excuse _you_ Capsicle, my man-whore days are definitely over. I have a wonderful thing going with Pepper and don’t you ever forget it!”

Steve snorts derisively, “Sure thing Tony.”

Pepper walks in in time to run her fingers through Tony’s hair, calming the frenetic movements of her boyfriend just enough to not explode, “Just because your precious boyfriend is a sad trash hobo doesn’t mean that he gets special treatment _all_ the time!”

In the background, Bucky snorts and stuffs a handful of leftover blueberry waffles into the pockets of Steve’s pilfered sweatshirt to save for later.

Steve angrily throws the wadded up ball of failed sketchbook paper at the genius’ head, “Bucky Barnes is _not_ a sad trash hobo!”

Bucky chokes on a mouthful of his breakfast and nearly snorts maple syrup out of his nose, “Stark, you _really_ need to work on your insults. You desperately need new material.”

Steve visibly rallies himself to Bucky’s cause, “Well! Bucky isn’t a hobo anymore and he’s _definitely_ not trash!”

Bucky raises his eyebrows at him pointedly.

“I mean, we’re working on the sad part,” Steve amends. “But still, he’s doing better everyday that he stays here and it’s a great thing!”

Regardless, Tony ends up ordering a whole batch of ‘sad trash hobo’ mugs for the team. He gets Steve and Bucky matching colours.

It’s comments like these that get Bucky thinking about why people see him that way. He likes the way his hair can hide his face – even if it’s a little unmanageable some times – and he likes the big baggy sweatshirts and loose pants that Steve got for him, the softness providing a soothing layer of protection against the harshness of this bright new world. So what if he looks like one of those tired people who crowd along the dirty streets of New York? They’ve survived countless of their own battles, and he always stops to talk with them and drop some coins into their tins. Hell, it’s not even like he wears the kohl liner around his eyes anymore so what’s the big deal?

It isn’t like he doesn’t try to be the same fashionable dandy he was before the war, pressed three-piece suits and shined shoes aren’t exactly the latest fashion, but he _does_ try. So he goes to the one person he knows who is both fashion savvy and discreet: Darcy.

She comes bearing gifts and trinkets when she visits with Jane in the spring and he pounces on the opportunity. He waits until she is handing him a tiny music box that plays swing music, and pops the question. She stares at him for a full minute without saying a single word, and then gives him the single most unholy grin he has ever seen in his entire life. So she takes him by the hand and leads him to the nearest thrift store. It turns out there _are_ some fashionable joints in the Big Apple, just not in the massive malls and high-end boutiques downtown. Bucky drifts along quietly behind Darcy as she putters between the shelves and racks, calmly accepting every article of clothing she offers him on her rounds. They spend the afternoon trying clothes on in the cheap dressing rooms and by the end of the day Bucky has an armload of soft flannel shirts, comfortable jeans, and a collection of ugly sweaters.

Of course when they get back and Bucky models some of the flannel for Steve, Tony immediately bursts out into delighted peals of laughter.

Bucky bristles, “What?”

“It’s just- oh my _god_ ,” Tony wheezes. “You’re an accidental hipster!”

Bucky narrows his eyes at Steve as his boyfriend doubles over laughing.

“Oh my god, Buck I’m just,” Steve guffaws. “You totally _are_ a hipster!”

Bucky huffs indignantly as Steve pulls him in for some reassuring cuddles.

Thor walks in, blinks at the change in Bucky’s clothes, and loudly congratulates him on his excellent wardrobe choices. Bucky thanks him distractedly and turns back to the argument at hand, his fashion sense at stake. Thor calmly walks by and stands close to him before nonchalantly handing Bucky Mjolnir and asking him to hold it while he grabs the Poptarts from the top shelf.

It isn’t until Thor is safely ensconced in the breakfast nook with his toasty Poptarts that anyone realizes that Bucky is _holding Mjolnir_. Thor just smiles serenely at the vulnerable hope shining out of Bucky’s eyes.

“Hey is this… normal? Is it supposed to do that?”

Thor swallows before replying, “Of course. Mjolnir only responds to those who are worthy of wielding it. Clearly, my friend, you are worthy.”

And if Bucky’s smile is a little watery, well.

No one’s saying anything.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Peace and quiet rarely lasts long in the Avengers’ tower.

So after two weeks of near constant vigilance involving wormholes through space, benignly curious shape shifters, and special code words and phrases, the team is ready to get some serious R & R away from all the crazy shit. Clint revels in his paperwork for once; Bruce goes on a six-hour bender of hardcore yoga, while Natasha and Thor commandeer the recreation room to watch every single Harry Potter movie in a single sitting. Tony holes himself up in his workshop and upgrades the bots, Steve breaks out his oil paints, and Bucky knits an entire sweater in less than twenty-four hours.

When Bucky comes out of his post-knitting blackout spree, he realizes that he hasn’t had a single bite of food in ages. So he heads down to the kitchen to claim whatever leftovers haven’t become sentient in the past two weeks – which is admittedly a very small amount of food – but beggars can’t be choosers. He’s perched precariously on the top of the fridge with a half-finished container of spicy green curry – the fridge provides both an excellent vantage point and a means of scaring the shit out of any unlucky passers-by – when Bruce and Clint wander in, in the middle of a heated discussion that has clearly been going on for some time.

“But seriously? How do we even show support?”

“Well it’s not really that difficult Clint,” Bruce sighs. “I don’t know why you’re so worked up over this.”

“Well,” says Clint, opening the fridge door and grimacing at the contents. “It’s not like any of us are the poster children for healthy interpersonal relationships.”

“What about Tony and Pepper?”

“He’s a recovered alcoholic and she’s a terrifying rage inferno. Irrelevant.”

Bruce’s eyebrows scrunch together in concentration, “Thor and Jane?”

“Really? An Asgardian alien with a Poptart fetish, and an astrophysicist with a raging science boner? Not to mention the weird homoerotic co-dependent side relationship he has with his psycho brother.”

“Point taken. You and Natasha?” he asks, slyly looking over his shoulder to gauge Clint’s reaction as he pours some cereal into a bowl.

Predictably, Clint tries to play things cool and aloof by not reacting.

Which really means that he drops a carton of noodles and chokes on nothing.

“What? Me and Nat? No, I mean, she doesn’t!” Clint distractedly runs a hand through his hair, his cheeks flushing a brilliant scarlet. “It’s not like that between us!”

At Bruce’s answering look of complete disbelief and absolute done-ness with the archer, Bucky snorts so hard that curry comes out his nose.

Clint jumps a foot in the air and yells, “What the _fuck_ when did you even get here?”

“He’s been here the entire time, oh great master assassin,” Bruce drawls, moving to get a glass of water for Bucky to help him stop choking.

Bucky gulps down the water, his eyes burning, and he swallows carefully before slithering down from his perch to put his dishes in the sink.

“Why are you guys listing off couples?” Bucky asks, curious at the speculations.

Bruce and Clint turn to look at him contemplatively, faces carefully drawn and blank. Bucky only gets nervous when they turn back to each other in perfect synchronization.

“Steve and Bucky though.”

“I _know_ right?”

“But I don’t even know how they identify?”

Clint turns to Bucky and asks, “Hey what do you look for in a romantic partner?” completely without preamble.

Bucky blinks, “Um. I don’t know, enthusiastic consent? I have no idea where you’re going with this.”

Bruce sighs loudly and pushes Clint aside, “What I think he means is, what’s your sexuality? We’re just curious.”

He blanks out. It’s not that he’s never thought about what he likes in a partner, it’s just that it’s never been centered on what they look like. It’s not like Bucky can’t appreciate a nice hourglass figure on a lady, or a smoking hot set of abs, but ultimately those traits aren’t what draw him to people. His eyebrows draw downwards in deep thought, slowly parsing through his thoughts and giving them the attention they deserve.

Bruce misinterprets his thoughtfulness as offence, “I mean! I don’t mean to pry or make you uncomfortable! I just- oh _Jesus_ I’m so sorry!”

“Relax doc, it’s just hard to put into words, you know?” Bucky says calmly. “How do I explain it… it’s more like, the outside bits don’t matter so much. I mean yeah, objectively there’s a ton of attractive people out there, but I don’t just get excited about any pretty face I see. I have to like _who_ they are before I’m really attracted to them that way? Does that make sense?”

“Hmm,” Bruce hums thoughtfully. “Well as far as actual labels go… you could be pansexual?”

Bucky’s eyes widen comically, “Woah there pal, just because I’ve got a metal arm doesn’t mean I get it up for kitchenware.”

Clint bursts out laughing at the indignation in Bucky’s voice, “Nah man, _pan_ as in the Greek word for _all_? It just means you’re more attracted to personality rather than booty.”

Bucky mulls the information over in his mind, tossing and turning the idea before mentally shrugging and filing it away for future consideration, “Yeah I guess that sounds about right.”

“What about Steve?” asks Clint. “Which way does the golden patriot swing?”

Bucky snorts, “Stevie is pretty fond of calling himself bisexual so I’m thinking he swings that way. Why? Why do you need to know all that crap?”

Clint throws him the cheerfully coloured brochure and rinses his cup out, “Well there’s this married couple from dispatch who gave us the brochure. They wanted to see if we’d generate a little positive PR for them.”

“Neat. What kind of PR?”

“Oh not much, just a little queer pro quo,” Bruce chuckles at his own turn of phrase. “Marie and Chloe are happily married. Been together for, what, four years now?”

Clint shakes his head; “No they just had their fifth anniversary a couple weeks ago.”

Bucky freezes in place, “But two dames can’t get married?”

“Depends on which state you’re in,” says Bruce, smiling softly. “New York passed the same-sex marriage bill back in 2011, so it’s pretty common around here. It’s taking a while for the rest of the US to catch up though.”

“JARVIS?” Bucky hollers.

“Yes sir?”

“Hey, can you throw up a bunch of articles and newspaper clippings onto my tablet? I want to, uh, research how things have changed.”

“Certainly sir. Shall in include any prominent social figures who are ‘out’?”

“Eh, Why not,” Bucky shrugs nonchalantly, putting his empty glass into the dishwasher on his way out of the kitchen.

“So you’ll help us?” asks Bruce, his eyes narrowed deviously.

Bucky nods distractedly, “Sure thing doc. Just lemme know what I can do.”

It’s only after Bucky has left the kitchen that Clint speaks up, “So how long do you think it’ll take him to realize that we scripted that whole conversation?”

“If he’s anything like Steve’s brand of social obliviousness, then it’ll occur to him a few years after he proposes.”

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Bucky prides himself on being creative and thinking outside the box.

So after he browses through several jewellery shops – whose price tags just about give him a heart attack – Bucky settles down to think up a way to ask Steve to spend the rest of his life with him. Somehow, Bucky doesn’t think “ _Hey I love you do you want to get the law involved so you can’t leave?_ ” would be a good marriage proposal.

The sentiment: yes.

The delivery? Hell no.

He starts off simple: watching other couples interact with each other in the streets, trying to ascertain which couples are dating and which ones are engaged. The teenagers slobbering all over each other in the park: dating. The two girls holding hands over their game of chess: dating- no, wait! There are the rings! Engaged! Those guys roughhousing on the soccer field: oblivious and flirting but not yet dating.

Finally Bucky caves and asks for advice from the elderly couple that always comes to the park in quiet of early mornings to feed the ducks.

“So, what’s the secret?”

“The secret to what? Life? Son I couldn’t answer that if I tried,” the little old lady says kindly, adjusting her hold on the bag of bread.

“Happy wife, happy life,” her husband chimes in, lasciviously waggling his eyebrows at her.

Bucky snickers and shrugs, “No ma’am, I just meant, how did your fella pop the question to you? What made you so sure that he was the one?”

She stills in her seat, her eyes glazing over as she stares into the distance.

“Because,” she says, smiling softly. “He said there wasn’t anybody else in the entire universe that he’d like to annoy for the rest of his life.”

Bucky understands completely.

He tries to picture himself spending the rest of his life annoying someone else. Maybe replacing Bruce’s fancy herbal teas with dandelion and mulch, arguing with Tony or Clint about Star Trek versus Star Wars, or even leaving whoopee cushions everywhere for Nat to sit on. It just doesn’t have the same ring to it at all.

Bucky tries to start with simple ideas.

The next time it’s Bucky’s turn to make lunch, he cooks the alphaghetti to perfection – carefully spelling out _MARRY ME_ in tiny noodle letters. But his hopes are dashed when Steve bounds into the kitchen after his run and pulls the bowl to his face and, without ceremony, proceeds to slurp up the entire thing without so much as glancing down at what exactly he’s eating. Bucky glares down into his noodles the entire time afterwards, and everyone rushes to reassure him of his exceptional cooking skills.

Then Bucky tries to appeal to Steve’s pragmatic Irish roots: practicality. They’re sitting in front of the television watching _Call The Midwife_ when he casually mentions that he needs a tax reduction, and hell, maybe even some health insurance. Bucky then tries the not-so-subtle route once it’s clear that Steve isn’t getting the message.

“You know, like the fancy benefits those married schmucks get.”

Steve smiles serenely, “There’s only one person I know who could get you that.”

Bucky doesn’t realize just how oblivious Steve is until he’s sitting in Pepper Potts’ office on Monday morning – drowning his sorrows in a sweet Starbucks latte – while the she laughs in his face and says not a single word.

In hindsight, the balloon pop was a bad idea from the get-go.

Scratch that, it was a _terrible_ idea.

After spending an inordinate amount of time trying to stuff the newly purchased ring – Steve’s part of a simple pair of matching gold bands – into a balloon, Bucky thinks he’s ready. So he blows up the balloon and brings it down to his boyfriend in the gym. His plan backfires spectacularly when he pops it too close to Steve without any warning, and Steve decks him reflexively. Bucky counts it a small victory that Steve doesn’t notice him picking up the discarded ring from where he’s curled up and bleeding on the floor.

Likewise, the food-related plans seem to be the least effective, especially after Bucky tries the classic “ _put-it-in-a-box-of-cereal-like-a-prize_ ” plan. Having to give Steve CPR because he’s choking on the token of your eternal affections is the exact opposite of romantic and life changing.

Pepper is involuntarily involved in Bucky’s schemes once again after Bucky gets fed up with his lack of success and leaves a _Marriage For Dummies_ book out on the coffee table. Bucky is in the middle of a yoga routine with Bruce when he gets a text from Pepper.

_I blame you for this. A+ planning on this one sweetie :)_

Bucky wanders into the common area, curious about the muffled swearing and yelling.

“But I didn’t leave that there! And Pepper sure didn’t!”

Steve uses his patented ‘son-I-am-disappointed-in-you’ face, “Tony you know it’s not a slight to your masculinity if Pepper does the proposing right?”

“ _I DIDN’T LEAVE THE GODDAMN BOOK OUT._ ”

Pepper turns the page in her book and smirks at Bucky over the cover, her dark red lips pulling up in a shark-like smile.

As a last ditch attempt to propose to the love of his life with whatever is left of his dignity, Bucky tries to spell it out for Steve on the fridge, using the plethora of colourful magnets decorating the metal frame. It takes him a while, given the rather irritating tendency for the magnets to stick to his left arm, and he sits back on his haunches with satisfaction as he surveys his work.

**_WILL YOU MARRY ME? –BUCKY_ **

In his excitement at having something go his way for once, Bucky completely forgets that his housemates are essentially super powered toddlers with the emotional maturity of a twelve-year old boy drawing a penis on a dirty car. Clint waits until Bucky leaves before slinking out of the rafters to rearrange the letters on the fridge.

Bucky is understandably confused when he returns later that evening – fully expecting cuddles and an enthusiastically positive response – to a very embarrassed and angry Steve. The matter is cleared up when he glances down at what _was_ his proposal message on the fridge.

**_MR YOUR LAME WILY –BUCKY_ **

As Steve chews him out for being too open and flippant about their sex life and Clint guffaws loudly in the background, Bucky vows to make the archer pay dearly, and he does. Clint doesn’t realize his room is wired to play a muffled version of the Macarena (from the hidden compartment of his desk drawer) whenever he tries to close his eyes and sleep. In the end, Clint becomes severely sleep deprived and raves about the Macarena music following him everywhere he goes.

A SHIELD psych evaluation proves nothing immediately wrong with him, even if the rest of the Avengers – sans Steve – spend the entire time smirking knowingly.

Steve’s obliviousness to the entire situation hits an altogether new level of weird when even JARVIS is vexed beyond belief at the romantic blindness of the super soldier. It certainly doesn’t help anything for anyone when he decides to play _Careless Whisper_ anytime Bucky enters whatever room Steve is currently occupying, even if Tony laughs his ass off and denies any hand in the planning every single time.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Bucky decides to take some time to regroup and redraw the battle lines.

Pepper has managed to corral Tony into attending a meeting with their investors and Thor is out on a date with Jane, while the rest of the team lounges in the recreation room lazily flipping through the channels. Clint is perched precariously on top of the movie cabinet; Natasha is quietly engrossed in her game of solitaire, while Bruce and Steve occupy the massive sofa.

Bucky is _not_ sulking in the beanbag chair thank you very much.

“ _–And today the Senate is discussing the new same-sex marriage bill, with great opposition from conservative traditionalists–_ “

“Wow, what a surprise there,” Clint drawls.

“Yeah how _dare_ those people demand the same human rights as everyone else,” Bruce says, sarcasm dripping from every word.

“ _–The American people deserve an opinion in the matter of improving the institution of marriage to include and accommodate less conventional arrangements–_ “

Steve scoffs angrily, “damn fucking _right_ they do.”

“ _–The bill will be passing through a rigorous gauntlet of scrutiny from various parties–_ “

“It’s un-American to deny someone the right to marry whoever they love!” growls Steve, launching a handful of popcorn at the television screen in anger.

“Stevie,” Bucky grins. “We could power this building with your patriotism.”

Steve turns to glare at him, a sliver of evil glinting in his eyes, “No, what’s _really_ un-American is the Dodgers moving from Brooklyn to Los Angeles.”

Bucky snickers, “Yeah, right.”

The overwhelming silence in the room causes the soldier to look up, taking stock of the expressions decorating the room. Natasha with her calmly condescending gaze, Bruce scrunching his eyes closed in sympathy, and Clint’s gasping laughter from somewhere near the ceiling.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Clint wheezes hysterically. “Has no one told him about the whole move in 1957?”

“ _I THOUGHT YOU WERE JUST JOKING_!” Bucky roars, struggling to heave himself out of the plush material.

Steve blinks innocently, “but I thought you _knew_.”

“Don’t you fucking give me those fake innocent eyes Rogers you little _shitstain–_ “

“No but seriously Bucky,” Steve sobers up. “I thought I already told you about that?”

Bucky freezes and does a quick mental inventory.

And comes up with nothing.

It happens more often than he’d like, the blank nothingness that fills in the blank spots in his memory. From simple things like how to flip a pancake or how to turn the coffeemaker on to more complex things like apparently having the Dodgers move to fucking _Los Angeles_. It’s a convenient excuse for things he wants to get out of (paperwork, missed birthdays, embarrassing memories from before the war) but a less convenient happenstance for things he actually needs to know about this strange new world.

Natasha speaks first, understanding firsthand what it’s like to be a weapon without a mind, “the Dodgers were moved there so they could spread baseball to every corner of the US. That and the epic pissing match that O’Malley had with the city planners in New York. But mostly he just wanted a better stadium.” Satisfied with her explanation, she settles back into her cards.

Bucky lets out a shaky breath before launching into his rant about the irresponsible nature of sports team owners and their lack of commitment to the team. Tony and Pepper return from their meeting just in time to watch Bucky heave a desk at Steve’s laughing face, screeching about incompetent city executives.

Eventually, Tony just gets sick of their bitching and whining and puts an end to the whole business of baseball pissing matches. Pepper yells at him later for buying the entire Dodgers team and relocating them back to New York, but everyone knows she’s just putting on a show. They know she’s not seriously angry when she hands Steve and Bucky prime seats to the Dodgers’ very first game back on home turf in over fifty years.

“Did you ever think we would be here?”

“What do you mean?” asks Bucky.

“Well,” Steve muses, the corners of his mouth turning up. “If someone had told you back before the war that one day I would be a big healthy fella, that we’d live well past ninety, that you’d take it up the ass regularly– “

“ _Hey_.”

“That we’d get to watch the Dodgers back home in the best seats in the house… what would you have done?”

Bucky shoves another handful of salted peanuts into his mouth and chews thoughtfully, “Well first I would’ve laughed at the idea of you being bigger than a toothpick.”

“Rude.”

“But true. Then I would’ve also laughed again because _hello_ , you were ninety pounds of asthmatic wheezy social justice fighter. How the hell you made it past your teenage years is still beyond me.”

“Actually I was ninety-seven pounds.”

“Speaking of pounding,” Bucky smiles beatifically, the very picture of innocence and purity. “I probably would’ve blustered my way through the entire thing if someone suggested I ever bottom, maybe I’d punch someone in the face.” He pops another handful of peanut into his mouth, “And then I would’ve gone home and jerked off so hard that I’d have been screaming into my pillow.”

Steve groans appreciatively.

“As for the Dodgers,” he continues, stuffing the empty package of peanut into his pocket. “I think we would’ve just scaled the building to sit in the nosebleed section for free.”

Steve laughs softly, “Yeah we would’ve been that stupid.”

“Pfft, we _are_ that stupid.”

“Sad but true.”

Bucky looks over at Steve, sitting there in the late afternoon sunlight and glowing from the inside out, the amber light making his hair shine like spun gold as it dances gently in the wind. He thinks about all the stupid stuff they did as kids, the pranks and schemes and plots. He muses on how much Steve felt he had to prove himself, and how he’d always known that Steve was worth ten of any other guy out there. Bucky’s eyes trace the strong curve of Steve’s jaw, the gentle curve of his lips pulling up in a soft smile and making the blue of his eyes stand out as they crinkle happily underneath the untidy mop of hair. It’s then that he’s hit with just how _much_ love he feels for his rebel of a best friend, and that’s when he realizes it.

There will never be anyone else.

“Hey Steve?”

Steve glances over immediately at the nervous quiver in Bucky’s voice.

“Yeah?”

“How about you and I be stupid together for the rest of our lives? Just you and me against the world?”

If Bucky weren’t so completely terrified of rejection, he probably would’ve laughed at the incredulous look on Steve’s face as he pulls out the box with their rings in it.

“Bucky, are you? I mean, is this a– “

“Yes. Marry me you punk.”

The Dodgers’ first game back in New York goes down in history for multiple reasons. First: Iron Man now owns the team. Second: the tickets to the game are sold out within fifteen minutes of the box office opening. And third: Captain America gets proposed to by a guy who looks vaguely homeless and more than a little unbalanced.

And judging by the enthusiastic kissing and groping that follows the proposal…

He said yes.


End file.
